


A Picture is Worth a Thousand Wanks

by abstractconcept



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Capsicoul - Freeform, Community: avengerkink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 15:38:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventually Steve comes around to the idea that a dirty picture might be just another way to say ‘I love you.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Picture is Worth a Thousand Wanks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [la_elefantita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_elefantita/gifts).



> **Betas and Pre-Readers:** Isisanubis, adele_sparks and fairyniamh.  <3  
> Written for la_elefantita's Kinkmeme Prompt: The Avengers discover Agent Coulson's collection of Captain America memorabilia and are surprised to discover that it contains a large number of rather *ahem* well-loved Tijuana bibles (like Sally Jupiter's in Watchmen) and other bits of erotica. Everyone but Steve is amused. Steve goes from embarrassed to flattered to intrigued to aroused before deciding it's time to make some of Agent Coulson's fantasies into realities. (http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/6565.html?thread=12123557#t12123557)

Steve took a brisk walk around the Helicarrier, nodding to people as he passed. “Hello, Enrique,” he said. The young man gave him a grin and a jaunty salute before continuing toward the bridge. “Good to see you, Agent Hill.” Agent Hill just gave him a brisk nod. 

Steve had told the others he was having a walk around the newly-restored Helicarrier because he liked to keep moving; he had excess energy after a mission and the one they had just finished had, after all, been a bit of a let down, the criminal falling all too easily after Tony and Steve’s one-two punch. But in truth, Steve wasn’t really that wound up. He just wanted to play what he called ‘the name game.’ The people on the Helicarrier were his colleagues and allies; Steve had always found he was a much more effective leader when he could tack a name onto an order. 

Besides, people liked it. Almost everyone responded well to someone wanting to get to know them. Well, except for Fury, who had narrowed his eye at Steve and wanted to know what sensitive information Steve was angling for. From then on, Steve would not inquire as to the wife and family, if any, and stick to the weather. 

Steve’s steps carried him into a narrower corridor, and he slowed. These were the private quarters of the top agents. There probably wouldn’t be anyone in them just now. On the other hand, the mission was finished. Perhaps some of them were having some down time. Steve would like to stop in and say hello to Agent Coulson. This was the man’s first mission since being released from the hospital, and Steve enjoyed his company. And the agent’s face always lit up when he saw Steve; it was nice to feel so welcome and liked.

And Agent Coulson’s door was open. 

Steve passed a hand through his hair, then checked quickly to make sure there was no lint on his suit. Perhaps it was a bit silly, but he respected the agent. It was a little like speaking to a senior officer. It was just good decorum to make sure one’s uniform was right, even if Steve had left the military behind.

But instead of Agent Coulson, Steve found Tony Stark rummaging around in a cabinet.

“What are you doing?” Steve demanded. 

“Looking for my air horn,” Tony replied. “I’m looking to make it part of the suit, but Coulson confiscated it. I told him I’d get it back.” Suddenly Tony grinned. “Got it. Guess where he had it? Filed under ‘P.’ Bet you ten bucks that means ‘pain in the ass.’ Oooo. Here’s another folder. Marked ‘private.’” Tony wiggled his eyebrows.

“Leave it alone,” Steve sighed. Keeping Tony Stark out of trouble was a full time job that should come with a great pension and a dental plan.

“Look, if he doesn’t want me going through it, he shouldn’t have stolen my toy and put it in the same filing cabinet where he keeps his love letters to Captain America,” Tony said reasonably.

Steve blinked at him. “Love letters?” he echoed.

Tony shrugged. “I bet there are.”

“You shouldn’t be going through other people’s private things,” Steve said, aware that he was lecturing Tony. He only wished Tony didn’t need lecturing. Sometimes Steve felt like he was the youngest person in the group—his body was, at any rate, and in terms of life experience, there were times he felt awfully green—but at other times, he felt every minute of his ninety-odd years on Earth. Tony, in particular, had a knack for bringing out the elderly school marm in him. 

“Geez, always so uptight,” Tony commented. “Look, I’m just curious, okay? You never get curious what’s behind that impassive mask that Coulson wears?”

“I don’t find him that unreadable,” Steve replied. Coulson had always looked at him with frank admiration. It was heartening, and the respect was entirely mutual. 

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. When he talks to you, I can almost see his tail wagging.” Steve shifted his weight, embarrassed by the observation. “But, you know, I’ve known him longer, and he’s _usually_ a very cool cucumber. Anyway, it’s not like I’m going through his underwear drawer. I’ll do that when Mr. Morals leaves,” Tony muttered. “Oooh, jackpot!” He pulled out a small comic. “And plenty more where that came from.”

Steve grabbed it out of Tony’s hands. “That’s enough,” he said severely. “You’re being an ass.” He opened the drawer and shoved the comic back in, then slammed it shut. Tony tried to open it, but Steve held it closed, and Tony wasn’t wearing the suit, so there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“It’s just a comic,” Tony told him. 

“Out. Now.”

Tony heaved a sigh. “Fine. You’re right; I shouldn’t go through people’s private stuff.” He sauntered over to the door, looking innocent all over. Steve watched him through narrow eyes and kept his hand on the drawer. “I’m not sure how big a secret it is that he collects Captain America paraphernalia, though, so the comic isn’t exactly news.”

Steve blinked. “The comic . . . features me?” 

“Yep,” Tony told him. “Right on the cover, looking dashing and brave.”

“Oh.” Steve looked at the cabinet. 

“He was probably reading it in his spare time. Me, I’d have bought it just to draw silly mustaches on you.” Tony leaned against the doorframe, grinning. 

Steve cleared his throat. “Yeah, you probably would.” After a few moments of inner struggle, Steve gave up and opened the drawer. He was too curious not to. Captain America’s mighty deeds had continued on paper even after Steve’s crash into the ice, and it always amazed him to find what people dreamt of him doing. There were literally dozens of the little comics in there, all with his face on them.

“Hah. I knew even Mr. Goody Two Shoes couldn’t resist looking at himself.”

Steve shrugged. “I just want to know what crazy adventure I had,” he said. After all, it was about him. He was entitled to know, wasn’t he? But the comic wasn’t at all what he expected. It was a little thing, practically a pamphlet, all foxed and well-worn, and right in the first few panels he was . . . he was . . . taking off his clothes? Steve gaped. 

There was Captain America in all his dubious glory, helmet on but suit off, muscles bulging and penis erect, a pretty blonde girl on her knees in front of him. And people had _seen_ this. Agent Coulson had seen this! Had practically seen Steve naked, cavorting with some cartoon woman! Embarrassment roared through Steve, his face burning.

“Wow. What the hell is in that comic?” Tony asked after seeing his reaction. Before Steve could protest, Tony leapt across the room and snatched it from his hands. 

Steve made a grab at it, but Tony backed away. Steve didn’t want him running off with the thing. All he needed was for Coulson to come back and discover it was gone. “Stark, please. Put it back.”

Tony wasn’t about to do that. “Oh. I _see_. And this was army life, doing the Commander’s wife? Steve, you dog, you.”

“You know perfectly well it’s all fiction,” Steve mumbled. “It’s an eight-pager. They were—popular once. I’ve seen ’em around.” _But none of them featured me_ , he added in his head. 

“Uh-huh.” Tony leaned against the doorframe again, flipping through the pages. “Well, someone recreated you in _loving_ detail, didn’t they?” he teased. He gleefully held up a picture of Captain America with a rampant erection. “Too bad the scale is all off,” Tony noted with a leer.

“It really isn’t,” a new voice put in.

Tony spun to find Natasha standing behind him. She’d been looking around his arm at the comic, and now Steve’s humiliation was doubled. 

“No?” Tony said, unfazed. 

“Not from what I’ve heard,” she said. 

“That’s enough,” Steve said. He yanked the book out of Tony’s grip. 

“Sorry,” Natasha told him. “I was just trying to help. You know, boost your ego?”

“Well, you’re not helping,” Steve replied hotly. 

“It was a joke, Cap,” Natasha assured him. “Why don’t we cool off, put that away, and get out of here before Coulson finds out you were going through his things?”

“Before Coulson finds out _what?_ ” a new voice interrupted. 

Natasha made a face. “Sorry, Cap.” She turned away and scooted past Agent Coulson. “You two knuckleheads are on your own.”

Phil Coulson looked at the eight-pager in Steve’s hands. “Oh,” he said quietly. In almost direct contrast to Steve’s ever-brighter blush, the blood drained from the agent’s face. He looked absolutely mortified. So much for Tony’s ‘cool cucumber’ agent. “I was just—that was just—it was vintage,” the man explained in a small voice. 

Steve took a deep breath. It was no good trying to pretend the whole thing hadn’t happened now. Better just to put everything out on the table. “Tony, please leave,” he said.

“Leaving,” Tony said. He gave Steve a sharp salute and disappeared, obviously glad to be out of the middle of all this, even though it was entirely his doing. 

Steve licked his lips. “I’m not really comfortable with this,” he confessed. He handed the book to Agent Coulson. “To be honest, I find it a little disrespectful and—and hurtful. I understand why people would be curious or titillated by that kind of thing but . . . well, I’m a real person, you know?”

“I’m very sorry.” Coulson’s face was beginning to turn as red as Steve’s. “That was—it was an error in judgment. It won’t happen again. I’m afraid I was overzealous in trying to make sure my collection was complete.” He promptly tore up the little vintage booklet with shaking hands and dropped the pieces in a waste basket. He looked absolutely miserable, and Steve felt a funny twist in his stomach. He didn’t want the man to feel bad, he just didn’t want people having naked pictures of him. “I’ll get rid of all of them. I promise. I really hope you can forgive me.”

Steve gave him a warm smile. “If you can forgive me for invading your privacy,” he said a bit wryly. “I shouldn’t have done that, either. I’m sorry. Friends?” he said, offering his hand. 

The agent shook his hand. “Sure,” Coulson said weakly.

“We’ll say no more about it,” Steve assured him.

***

Late that night found Steve wandering the Helicarrier again, feeling out of sorts. He wondered if Coulson was still as embarrassed as he was. He wondered if he’d been too stiff about the whole thing; Tony was constantly having to remind him that sex was viewed differently now. Maybe he should have laughed the whole thing off.

Most of all, he hoped Coulson wasn’t upset. He really did like and respect the man, and the thought of this souring their friendship gave him an ache in his stomach. 

Sighing, Steve trudged along the lonely corridor, head hanging. He should go back to the agent’s room. Talk to him. Assure him everything was all right between them. Get things back on track. 

The very thought made him straighten; he always felt better facing things head on. He went straight to the senior agents’ quarters and stood outside Coulson’s door. Steve took a deep breath, and then something clanged behind him. 

Heart pounding, Steve spun, expecting some sort of attack. He was surprised to find Barton behind him. “Where did you come from?”

Barton pointed to the catwalk above them. He lifted his chin a little in a ‘come here’ gesture, and Steve obediently followed him back down the corridor. “What were you doing visiting Agent Coulson?” he asked. 

Steve blushed. “Oh. There was this—um, thing, earlier, and I—”

“The dirty magazine?” Clint asked with a wicked smile. “Yeah, everyone’s talking about that,” he said. He shook his head a little. 

“Really?” That was not at all what Steve had hoped to hear. 

“Tony Fucking Stark,” Clint said. 

“Yeah. Well . . . Agent Coulson explained to me that it was just a collector’s item, so no harm done.”

“Collector’s item my _ass_ ,” Clint replied. 

“What?”

“He has a thing for you.” Clint removed an arrow from his quill—Steve wondered briefly why the man was carrying it around the Helicarrier in the middle of the night—and examined the tip. “You know; he likes you.”

“Likes me?” Steve repeated. 

Clint rolled his eyes. “He’s smitten, okay?”

“Oh,” Steve said. He could feel his face heat up, his shoulders tightening. Today was made of embarrassment and weirdness. “Why are you telling me this?”

Barton leaned back against the wall, watching Steve’s expression closely. “Well, you know how it is. You’re from a more . . . conservative time and all that. I wanted to tell you before you found out some other way and blurted something hateful or stupid in front Coulson.”

Steve leaned against the opposite wall, realization slowly dawning. “You’re . . . trying to protect Agent Coulson.”

Clint shrugged. “He’s had my back in some nasty situations, and I’m returning the favor. By heading this off at the pass and giving you time to process everything, it lessens the chances that Captain America will say something rude and wake up with an arrow sticking out of his nose. I’m trying to save us both some embarrassment, is what I’m saying,” Clint said. 

“God knows I’ve had my share of _that_ for the day,” Steve muttered, rubbing the back of his head. He let out a long breath. Phil Coulson _liked_ him. It was somehow much less shocking than he would have expected. In fact, a large part of him was saying, _Yeah, he does. Of course he does. You knew that, even if you didn’t want to acknowledge it._ All the same, Steve wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the knowledge. 

“So. Are we going to have a little spat about this or what?” Clint asked. He was still toying with the tip of the arrow.

“What?” Steve had trouble returning his concentration to the conversation.

“A spat. A dust-up. Are you going to give me problems, is what I’m saying.” Clint flexed a little, his eyes glinting like steel in the dim light of the echoing corridor. “I know you’re strong, but I can take you. I’ll just get on your back and ride you like a damn bull ‘till you’re out of steam.”

“ _What?_ ” Steve shook his head to clear it. “No. That won’t be necessary. _No_ , we’re not going to fight,” he said. Apart from anything else, the idea of running down the corridor with a screaming Clint clinging to his shoulders and possibly trying to jam an arrow in his ear held all the hallmarks of more humiliation, and he was done with that for the day. “I’m just surprised. But I’m not angry, and I promise I won’t say anything offensive to Agent Coulson. He’s a brave and good man and he certainly doesn’t deserve further embarrassment over this.”

Clint blinked a little. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Such a boy scout. Nothing. Never mind. Just glad I didn’t have to wipe the floor with you.” Clint offered his hand and Steve shook it. “Night, Captain.”

“Good night, Agent Barton.” When Clint walked away, Steve headed straight back to his own chambers. He was done wandering the Helicarrier. It got him into too much trouble.

***

Steve brushed his hair back with one hand. His hair was still damp from the shower, but it would be dry soon. He found an early morning workout helped him stay focused and ready for whatever the day brought. At heart, Steve liked routine. And the aerobic exercise always left him feeling good.

He wanted a cup of coffee. Maybe some food or something, but definitely a cup of coffee. The cafeteria had been opened for ten minutes, so he took the stairs two at a time—slamming into someone coming down, of course. Coulson. It _would_ be Coulson. “Oh. Agent Coulson. Good morning.”

Coulson looked flustered. 

Steve was suddenly aware that he was wearing a cheap white T that was nearly see-through when slipped on over a still slightly-wet body. He’d been in a bit of a rush, eager to get a Danish or something, but maybe he should have taken an extra few moments to dry off. The look of longing Coulson was directing at Steve’s chest was totally disconcerting . . . and kind of flattering. Steve found himself flustered too. 

The agent shook his head a little and forced himself to look away. “Good morning, Captain,” Coulson muttered to his coffee. He had dark circles under his eyes, but he seemed as composed as possible considering the situation. 

Steve sought for something to say to put the man at ease. “Are the pecs g—oh, lord. No. Is the _coffee_ good this morning?” he croaked.

“Terrible.”

“Ha. Well. I love a good cup of bad coffee,” Steve said. He winced a little. What a stupid thing to say. “Sit with me?”

Coulson rubbed the back of his neck. “I have . . . I have reports to finish,” he said. 

“Come on, just a cup,” Steve wheedled. He hated to think of himself as a guy who wheedled, but the situation warranted a bit of wheedling. The idea of Phil Coulson being unhappy and ashamed every time he got near Steve made him feel sick and sort of desperate. He was not unaware that Coulson was one of the closest things he had to a friend—possibly the only person on this whole flying nuthouse who understood him. “Please?” 

Coulson met his eyes—finally—and sort of seemed to melt. Everything except his mouth said, _I can’t say no to the puppy eyes._ His mouth just said, “Sure.”

Of course, that didn’t make things suddenly okay again. Even after they sat down in the cafeteria, the men looked at each other, sipped their coffee awkwardly, and then tried to avoid each other’s gazes. 

“So,” Steve said. He fiddled with the salt shaker. 

Coulson cleared his throat and played with his mug. 

“That last mission was easier than I expected.” Steve tried to be bright. Happy. Normal. 

“Yes. You work well with Stark.”

“Yeah. Well. Sure. In the rare moments he’s not making me want to throttle him, anyway.”

Agent Coulson nodded. “He’s better at being annoying than he is at saving the world, and that’s saying something,” he agreed. 

Steve grinned in relief. “I don’t understand half the things he says when we’re in the middle of battle,” he admitted. “I don’t think he says them for my benefit at all. I think he just likes to talk.”

Coulson half smiled at that. “That’s probably a large part of it. He likes to psych himself up—and psych the other guy out. It’s the equivalent of a Viking berserker screaming incoherently and biting his shield,” the agent said wryly.

Steve had to laugh at the image. “I don’t think Tony would want to mess up his perfect teeth.”

Coulson laughed a little, too. “True.”

They fell into silence again, but it was less awkward now. “I like your mug,” Steve finally said. It had a shield on the side. _His_ shield. It meant a lot to Steve that Coulson kept using it, even now. 

Coulson shrugged, but he seemed pleased. “Everyone knows it’s mine.” His voice was soft. “No one’s allowed to use it except for me.”

He met Steve’s eyes, briefly, before they both looked away. “I like it,” Steve said again. He couldn’t say, _I know. And it’s okay with me._ ‘I like it,’ was as close as he could come. He didn’t want to embarrass the man again. He watched as Coulson lovingly traced the concentric rings with his fingertip. 

The cafeteria began to fill up around them, the Helicarrier coming to life. Everyone was chatty and excited; they’d be heading home today. 

“I should go,” the man finally said. He gave Steve an apologetic half shrug. “Those reports,” he explained, getting up.

Steve shot to his feet, knocking his chair over. “Lunch?” he said. 

Coulson stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“Lunch. That. Uh. We eat. We could eat together?” Steve hated how foolish he sounded. Why was he stumbling all over himself? It was disgraceful. “I mean . . .” Steve cleared his throat. “I’d like to buy you lunch. If you’re not busy.”

Coulson blinked at the suggestion. His grin was shy. “Um, sure. Yes. If you want to,” he said. Steve hated to admit it, but the man was positively adorable like this, flummoxed and grateful and so much more vulnerable than any cool cucumber agent Tony touted. 

“Good,” Steve breathed. “Lunch.”

Coulson stuck out his hand. “Yeah. See you then?”

It took a couple of seconds before it registered, and then Steve grabbed the proffered hand and shook it hard. “Yes. Sorry. _Lunch_ ,” he said. What the hell was wrong with him? He felt like he’d been ten steps behind for the past day. 

Coulson gave him another adoring smile, which made Steve’s stomach do unexpected things. With a last nod, the agent left, and Steve stood there for an extra minute or two, looking stupid, his chair upended and his hand still extended. 

A woman Steve didn’t recognize passed, her eyebrows raised, and Steve came back to himself and scrambled to get the chair up and tried to look like he wasn’t being a jackass. Dammit, what the _hell_ was going on?

Well, he’d made up with Agent Coulson, anyway.

That was good. Wasn’t it?

***

Steve arrived at Agent Coulson’s door just before noon. It was open, but Steve rapped on the door frame anyway. He was never going in again without permission. “Hey,” he said.

Coulson looked up from his desk, which Natasha was leaning on. The assassin looked at Steve questioningly. 

“I’m here to pick up Agent Coulson.” Steve swallowed hard. “For lunch,” he explained. The expression on Natasha’s face said, ‘Oh, _really?_ Isn’t _that_ interesting?’ but she didn’t say it out loud. 

Instead she smiled. Steve couldn’t tell if it was sincere or teasing or what. “That will be nice. For both of you,” she said. 

“You’re welcome to join us,” Coulson said after an awkward moment.

“Would not _dream_ of intruding,” she promised. She pushed herself away from the desk. “Thanks for putting in the requisition for me,” she told Coulson, and added with a wink, “Have fun.”

Coulson averted his face from her like he was annoyed, but Steve couldn’t see anything wrong with it. Maybe he was just failing at understanding modern nonverbal communication. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d always found women hard to read.

After Natasha left, Coulson grabbed up a briefcase and several books. He gave Steve a tight smile. “I have to return these to Agent Lewis after lunch. I’m afraid I won’t have time after that as we’re scheduled to land just outside of the Springs and that’s his bus stop.”

Steve watched as Coulson tried to balance everything he needed to carry. “Here, let me help you with those.” Steve offered a hand and took most of the books. 

“You’ll . . . carry my books for me?” Phil Coulson raised his eyebrows. “Jesus, it’s like I’m back in high school,” he said as he led the way to the door, which he carefully closed and locked. “Mind you, a much better version of high school than I got,” he muttered. 

Steve actually thought he understood that reference, but he wasn’t going to admit it. “I don’t mind,” he said. “I’ll carry your books whenever you want.” Okay, he wasn’t sure why he said that, but it felt like the right thing to say. 

Phil chortled. It might even have been a giddy chuckle, or a well-disguised giggle. Then he cleared his throat. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Steve followed him back down the hall, books tucked under one arm. “Did you read all of these?” he asked. 

“I made it through several of them, yes. I enjoy reading. What most people don’t realize is that the life of a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is a long stretch of boredom papered with expense reports, punctuated occasionally by total fucking chaos. It’s nice to have a hobby when you’re waiting for the chaos,” he said dryly.

“Ah. It’s probably good to work on your mind. I know what you mean.” Steve glanced down at one of the books. _Chinua Achibe._ It was all Greek to him, so to speak. “I usually do sit-ups when I get bored,” he went on.

Phil glanced wistfully over his shoulder. “Of course you do,” he muttered. 

When they got to the cafeteria, Steve grabbed a burger and fries. Ever since the super soldier serum, his appetite had become substantial. 

“I want to apologize again for the other day,” Agent Coulson said once they’d found a place to sit. “It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

“Well,” Steve said after taking a sip of cola, “It wasn’t my intention to make _you_ uncomfortable either. I should not have been in your room. Though, in my own defense, Tony started it.”

Coulson heaved a sigh. “He usually does. He also apologized to me this morning, though. Sort of.” The man poked at his food and added, “He passed me in the hall and hissed, ‘Sorry Cap found your collection of pornographic pictures of him and incidentally I probably shouldn’t have broken into your room and gone through your private stuff.’”

“Sounds like Tony,” Steve said with a laugh. 

“But . . . we’re okay, right?” The agent looked at him anxiously. “I really, um, admire you, and I would hate for a lapse in judgment to color your opinion of me forever.”

“I have a very high opinion of you,” Steve assured the man. Coulson turned a bit red. “It’s water under the bridge.”

“I—I’m really glad. And I’m glad that you asked me to lunch.” The man relaxed a little. Coulson had chosen a helping of lasagna and some salad, but didn’t seem especially interested in eating. He was more engrossed with Steve. “It’s a real . . .” he trailed off as Steve raised a French fry to his mouth and bit it in half. “It’s a—it’s a treat. A real treat.” He blinked a little as Steve licked the ketchup off his fingers. “Even if it’s cafeteria food,” Phil added with a weak laugh. He cleared his throat and made an effort to stop staring and looked down at his plate.

Steve couldn’t help but be mesmerized in turn. Tony said Phil Coulson was so smooth, so reserved. Steve had broken through that the first day they met. The only problem was that Steve didn’t know what to _do_ with that. Watching Coulson blush and squirm was starting to make Steve feel like blushing and squirming. It was ridiculous. And a little exciting, if Steve was being perfectly honest with himself.

“So . . . tell me about this cellist of yours,” Steve said as casually as possible.

Phil blinked in surprise. “Who told you about that?”

“Tony.”

“Of course. Well, erm, he isn’t exactly ‘my’ cellist anymore. That was months ago.”

“He?” Steve repeated. Steve couldn’t be too surprised, considering his conversation with Clint.

“Oh.” Phil looked down at his food again. “I guess Tony didn’t mention that.”

“Not important,” Steve replied, feeling very suave to be so cool and relaxed with the idea. Back in his day, people made a big damn deal about sex. It was kind of satisfying to act nonchalant about it. “You aren’t . . . together anymore?”

“No. He had opportunities and wanted adventure, and I had commitments and . . . we were at different places in our lives.”

“Do you have a picture of him?” Steve couldn’t help it. He was curious.

With a shrug and a smile, Coulson pulled out his phone and scrolled through some things before handing it over. The man was young—Steve’s age, possibly—and very good looking, with dark curls and a broad smile. 

“Wow, he’s really handsome!” Steve exclaimed. 

Coulson smiled a crooked little smile. “Yes. He is very handsome,” he agreed ruefully.

Steve considered this. “More handsome than me?” He tried not to sound plaintive. 

The agent flushed. “I—well—I—” he stuttered. 

Steve got a warm rush of pleasure. The more Coulson stammered and blushed, the more Steve wanted to _make_ him stammer and blush. He was turning into a terrible person. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“No! I mean, yes. I mean, no.” Coulson blew out a long breath. “It’s fine to ask. I’ll answer, if you really want to know. No, he isn’t as, um, handsome as you are. I doubt there’s anyone on Earth who’s as handsome as you are,” he admitted. 

Steve beamed at him. “Thank you.”

Coulson laughed. “I’m surprised you’re not a little more shocked. At the—at the fact that I was—dating a man. I mean, the time you came from was . . .”

“Different,” Steve supplied. “Not really that different. Besides, if I went around dropping my jaw at every little change since my time, I’d be gaping like an idiot at everything from soda machines to . . . to cell phones. You can’t be shocked all the time. Some of the changes are really quite useful,” he added, handing Phil’s phone back.

“You don’t have one of these yet, do you?” the man asked. 

“Tony built one for me, but I haven’t really learned to use it,” Steve admitted. He took his out of his pocket. It was very flashy, a sleek thing that looked as if it could navigate deep space or street-race a Ferrari. 

“Here, I’ll put my contact info in it,” Phil offered, and Steve gladly handed it over. “That way you can call—or email me—if you need anything. You know . . . if things get too different.”

“Thanks,” Steve said. “I’d like that a lot.”

Phil grinned, cleared his throat, and tried to look serious again. He totally failed to look anything but absolutely delighted, though, as he eagerly punched in his number. 

It was crazy how flattering that was. How could Steve make someone that happy by doing something so easy? Phil’s whole face just lit up, and it was just—okay, it was kind of _precious,_ even if that was a completely ridiculous word. Just . . . where did you even find something that wonderful these days? In a world full of complicated stuff, Steve appreciated Phil’s simple infatuation.

Steve accepted his phone back and looked at it. “I’m going to have to get Tony to give me a crash course in modern technology,” he remarked. “This thing has all the bells and whistles, I’m sure. I can just about use a regular cell phone. Tony’s stuff? A total mystery.”

Phil laughed. “I admit, I looked through the options and even I don’t know what half of them do. For all I know the whole damn thing unfolds and turns into a wristwatch that shoots flames at people.”

“That would be just like Tony.” Steve grinned. “Brilliant, but for some reason demanding to run before crawling or walking. But you have to admit he’s enthusiastic,” he added. “He reminds me of his father. Did I tell you I knew his father?”

Phil shook his head. He swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I did read something about it, though. Perhaps in one of your files. Howard Stark never wanted to stop searching for you. You must have been close friends.”

Steve wiggled a hand in a ‘sort of’ gesture. “Yes, but initially he made a pass at my girl. We got past it, but it’s not the best way to start things.”

“Your girl,” Coulson said quietly. “Ah.” Apparently Peggy wasn’t in Steve’s file, or not as a love interest, anyway. Which was as it should be. Steve liked the fact that it had been kept private. 

“Well, again . . .” Steve made the same little gesture. “I would have married her, I think. Married her like a shot.” He looked down at the last of his hamburger and fries and suddenly didn’t feel like eating. “I don’t know how she’d feel about me bragging on her as ‘my girl,’ though. She was fiercely independent, and unfortunately I wasn’t around long enough for us to make anything of it.” He smiled sadly at Phil. “Peggy and I were a might have been that never was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ve been processing it for months, so the pain isn’t quite as fresh. But she was special.”

Agent Coulson smiled. “I don’t suppose you have a picture of her?”

“Actually, I do.” Steve reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. “It’s not in very good shape anymore. It survived the crash in the ice with me.” The picture was worn, but you could mostly make Peggy out.

“She’s lovely,” Phil said with a sigh. “And smart, too; you can see it in her eyes.”

God, now Steve was starting to get sentimental. “And brave,” he added. “She was incredibly brave.” He put the picture away.

“You know, if you . . . . if you trust me with it, I could scan it and have a digital copy made. It wouldn’t further degrade that way,” Phil explained. “It’s just something to think about. I wouldn’t do anything to harm the picture, of course—I’d merely make a sort of copy.”

Steve did think about it. It wasn’t that hard a decision. He pulled the little photo back out and handed it to Coulson with only a brief moment of pain as it passed out of his fingers. “I do trust you,” he said. 

Coulson looked genuinely touched. Maybe things were back to normal between them.

Why, then, did Steve suddenly not quite like the idea of normal anymore? Oh, well. 

Just then, a voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing that they would be landing in less than an hour. 

Steve and Phil looked at each other. 

“Well. We’ll have to do this again sometime,” Agent Coulson said. 

“Yes,” Steve agreed. “Call me when you can bring the picture back, and we’ll get together.”

***

“Well, that’s it for today, then. Stark, you can stop bitching that I don’t keep you in the loop,” Fury concluded, giving Tony a stern look.

Tony fiddled with his phone. “Huh? I’m sorry, were you saying something?”

Fury didn’t dignify this with a response, but he did roll his eye. Ostensibly, he’d called the meeting to keep them updated on what was going on, so Tony would stop jabbering on all the secret things S.H.I.E.L.D. was doing behind the Avengers’ backs, but Steve guessed it was really just because Fury wanted to keep an eye on them and see how they were progressing. 

Which was pretty well. Tony had invited them to live at Stark Tower, and that was nice because Steve’s former apartment had been destroyed in the wake of Loki’s attack. And they were bonding fairly well, all things considered. 

Fury leaned on the round table. “One more thing. I sent Coulson to check out a site in Switzerland and I’d like you to hear his report.”

Steve brightened. Coulson appeared on a large screen in front of them. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said to Fury, his expression bland. 

Steve, however, was so pleased to see him that he found himself grinning broadly. “Can he see us, too?” he asked Director Fury. 

“He can see you,” Fury said in a weary voice.

“Hey!” Steve chirped, waving at the man. 

There was an obvious moment where ‘protocol’ warred with ‘personal’ in Coulson’s head. Then he broke down and raised a hand to give a brief wave, his smile crooked. “Captain,” he said. 

“Steve,” Steve corrected. “Since we’re friends and all.”

“Ha. Right. Steve.” Agent Coulson cleared his throat and adjusted his tie a little. He was wearing one of his signature suits, dark and well-tailored, and he looked great. “I’ve been traversing frozen wastes, looking for evidence of scientists coming through the area long ago,” he explained to them. “But I’m afraid I haven’t found anything of interest to us yet.”

Then Fury broke in with a technical question, and Coulson had to switch gears and be professional again. Steve watched in bemusement; the man could flick his authority on like a switch. Steve really admired how calm he was. But when he caught Steve’s eye again, he blushed a little. Steve hastily looked away, his own face warm. He hoped Coulson didn’t notice. 

Next to him, Tony leaned over. “Psst. Steve. Hey, Steve.”

“ _What_ , Tony? You don’t need to ‘psst’ at me. I’m right here.” Tony had broken through his reverie, and Steve was annoyed. 

“Just so you know, you’re not the only person in the room. I mean, have a little dignity.”

“What?”

“He squirms so you squirm; he blushes and you blush. I mean, it’s hilarious, but also kind of painful. I’m starting to blush and squirm out of discomfort, Bruce, here, is starting to do it out of sympathy . . . I’m not sure Natasha _can_ blush, when it’s not on cue and all, but seriously, whatever you’re doing, just stop.”

“I was doing that?”

“A lot, Steve. Like, a _lot_. You need to pull it together. You’re not going to do this the next time we have to fight an alien monster, are you? Blush at him? Because I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it won’t send a very good message.” Tony gave Steve a pointed look. “Here comes Captain America and his mighty shield and rosy cheeks, batting his damn eyes. Somehow I don’t see the bad guys quaking in fear.”

“I—I wasn’t—” Steve swallowed. “I was _not_ batting my eyes. I just haven’t seen Agent Coulson in a couple of weeks.”

“I haven’t seen Agent Coulson for a couple of weeks either. For some reason, I can still manage to contain my impulse to blush at the man. Okay? Anyway, you could have just called him.”

“Still learning to work that stup—that phone you gave me.”

“Fine. I’ll give you a one-on-one lesson, and maybe make a manual.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

“Anything to prevent this travesty from happening again.” Tony shuddered a little. “Great, now even Clint’s doing it. You’ve got us all fucked up.”

“Sorry.”

***

“So, if I want to take a picture, I press . . .”

“This button. Right here. The one that looks like a camera, sort of.” To Tony’s credit, he was incredibly patient with Steve about explaining technology. His love of gadgets was obvious. “And see, that’s what you use to call someone. Or you can video-chat if you press _this_ instead.”

“Okay, yeah, I think I got that. And this button will bring up texts.” Steve pressed Agent Coulson’s phone number and typed, _Hi._

It beeped as Coulson returned the greeting. _What r u up 2? 4give spelling; hiding phone—in a conference._

Oops. Steve hadn’t meant to disturb the man. _Sorry,_ he typed back. _Just learning how to use this thing. Didn’t mean to bother you._

He didn’t expect a response, but in a moment there was another beep. _Don’t apologize. Tax issues. SO BORED._ In a cheeky addition, the man had added, _Save me, Cap. America._

Steve laughed out loud. 

“Okay, what the hell are you doing?” Tony asked, trying to look over Steve’s shoulder. Steve held him off with one hand. He loved it when Tony wasn’t wearing the suit. 

After thinking a moment, Steve replied. _Ok. Will swoop in and save you w/my amazing math skills. 2+2=4!!! Bam, another equation solved thanks to CAPTAIN AMERICA._

“What the shit are you giggling about?” Tony demanded. 

_If I get fired 4 laughing out loud during Jenkins’ powerpoint pres. on cap gains, ur in trouble._ Another message quickly followed the first. _Serious, tho., u r great. Saved me from dull meeting. My hero._

 _I’ll catch you if you swoon, promise,_ Steve typed back. _I know my math skills tend to overwhelm people._

 _Ha ha, yes, I’m sure it’s the math._ There was a pause. _I shld go. Jenkins getting grumpy._

Steve sighed. They’d been having a moment. It was almost flirting. 

“Maybe I should just leave you with the manual,” Tony said. “I mean, you obviously don’t need _me_.” 

Steve suppressed an eye roll. Tony hated not being the center of attention. “No, it’s fine,” he said, but accepted the manual anyway. “Thanks. This is really helpful.” He sighed again. “I wish _people_ came with a manual,” he mumbled. 

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Steve could feel his ears growing warm. “I just—it would just be nice to—you know—know how to push someone’s buttons.”

“Like _flirting?_ ” Tony responded, taken aback. 

“Well, yes.” Steve felt defensive. “What’s wrong with that? I mean, I—well, I haven’t had a lot of experience with these things and . . . and in my day . . .” Steve swallowed hard. “Just . . . well, it wasn’t considered all right for two men to . . . I mean, it’s difficult to explain how I feel when—”

“Steve.” Tony put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Buddy. You are a super guy. A _super_ guy. Honest, brave, kind to old ladies and animals. And you’re a really good-looking fellow. And I’m flattered, I really am, but—”

“ _What?_ Tony, _no._ ” Steve was mortified. He couldn’t decide if it made things better or worse that Tony was actually rejecting what he’d interpreted as a romantic pass. “Not you, Tony, I swear. It was, um, just . . . the person I was texting,” he said. 

“Oh. Thank God. And too bad. Pepper would probably have gone for a threesome.”

“Tony.”

“I know, I know. It would have made things really awkward,” Tony agreed. 

Steve looked at his phone glumly. “It would just be nice to be able to say, ‘Hey, I’m attracted to you. Let’s have dinner if you’re up for it.”

Tony gave him a withering look. “And that’s sooooooooo hard,” he said sarcastically. “Here.” He grabbed the phone out of Steve’s hands and typed something, fingers so fast and furious that Steve couldn’t begin to guess what he was doing.

“What was that? What did you just do?”

Tony handed the phone back. “Nothing.”

The phone beeped. Steve stared at it. _Would love to have dinner with you,_ it said. _Will call you soon._

“Oh,” Steve said. He looked at Tony. “How did you _do_ that?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I wrote, ‘Hey, I’m attracted to you. Let’s have dinner if you’re up for it.’”

Steve gaped. 

“You’re welcome.” Tony patted him on the shoulder and walked away.

***

“Hi! So . . . yeah. Hi,” Coulson said.

Steve looked at his screen closely. “What happened to your head?” Agent Coulson was pristine in a dark blue suit—he looked expensive as hell—but there was a small bandage just above his left eye. 

“Er . . . that’s classified,” the man replied. Steve frowned, and the agent sighed. “Okay, Barton said something to me and I turned to reply, didn’t watch where I was going, and walked into the lower branch of a tree. But it sounds so much better when I just say it’s classified,” he added wryly.

Steve laughed softly. “So even the flawless and fearless Agent Phil Coulson makes mistakes,” he said. “That’s good to know.”

“It shouldn’t be. I’m an important guy with an important job. You don’t want me walking into trees when I’m trying to save the world.” 

Steve shrugged. “You can do it on your days off.”

“I’ll look forward to that, then.”

Steve grinned. “Where are you?” 

“Still in Switzerland. I won’t be back in the States for a week or two.” Coulson shifted. “So . . .”

“So,” Steve replied. He folded and unfolded his hands as he watched the agent on the video screen. “This Skype thing is pretty neat,” he said after searching for a topic of conversation.

“Yes. Isn’t modern technology wonderful? When it’s—you know—not trying to kill you,” Coulson added. 

“Yeah.” Steve looked at the man warmly. He loved how sophisticated Coulson— _Phil_ —looked in his tailored suits. Tony had told him they were very expensive, but Steve wasn’t sure he’d really be able to tell the difference. All he knew was that the man looked really good in them. “So . . . when you get back—dinner?” he said. He gave the man a shy grin.

Phil looked at him for a long moment, then his eyes fell shut. Steve couldn’t read his face at all—pain? Ecstasy? Disgust?

“Are you all right?”

The man pulled himself together instantly. “Yes. My apologies. I was just . . . savoring that,” Phil told him, ducking his head. “Yes. Dinner. Absolutely. Where would you like to go?”

Steve shrugged helplessly. “I’m a bit out of touch. Tony tells me modern cuisine is raw fish. I don’t get that, to be honest—of all the advancements man has managed, I thought we’d got fire down a long time ago. But I’ll try anything once.”

Phil laughed. “You might actually like sushi. You never know. But let’s start simpler. What do you know you like?”

Steve gave this some thought. There used to be a place he’d visited once or twice, back in Brooklyn. A real nice little Mom and Pop Italian place, the kind that smelled like marinara twenty-four hours a day. It wasn’t fancy, but it was good, and it was tiny and would have been just the right spot for a romantic first dinner. He wondered if there were still places like that around. These days when he went out, it was usually on Tony’s dime, and Tony liked to go to slick, high-end joints. They were nice, too, but Steve would give anything for a candlelit place with good marinara. “Italian?” he suggested. 

“Love it. Honestly—my favorite,” Phil said. “I’ll make reservations.” To Steve’s amusement, he was already on the phone, booking a table for two. “It’s a great place,” he assured Steve after he’d hung up. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

Steve grinned. “I trust you.”

Phil smiled back. “That means a lot to me.” He looked more serious. “You mean a lot to me.”

Steve shuffled his feet a little. For all that Phil Coulson stammered and blushed around him, he knew how to push Steve’s buttons, too. “Thanks,” Steve mumbled. 

“I’m surprised you asked me out.”

Steve looked up. “You shouldn’t be.”

Phil just looked at him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“You’re brave. And you’re smart. And you look very, very good in your suits,” Steve informed him with a grin. 

“So do you,” Phil responded, eyes twinkling. “Of course, I designed it so you would. Well, and to make the material resilient and fire-retardant. But mostly to show off your body.”

Steve laughed. “Thank you.”

“No, thank _you_. I’m the one who gets to look at you,” Phil pointed out. There was a commotion offscreen. 

“What was that?” Steve was concerned. He shouldn’t worry about Coulson—the man could definitely take care of himself—but he hated being halfway across the world. 

Phil sighed. “God knows. Probably yetis or aliens or mad, rampaging skiers. I suppose I should go find out.”

“Be careful,” Steve said. 

Coulson smiled and gave him a sharp salute. “Yes, Captain,” he said. “I’ll call you the same time tomorrow, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

As soon as Coulson signed off, someone knocked on Steve’s door. “Come in,” he said. 

Tony poked his head in. “I got you a present,” he said. He tossed a booklet at Steve. 

“And it’s not even my birthday,” Steve said dryly. He looked down at the Tijuana Bible. “Why would you get me another of these when you saw how upset I was when I found the first one?”

Tony looked smug. “Because I improved this one. Lots. Go on, read it.”

Pained, Steve opened the little comic. In every single panel, Tony had scribbled all over it. “Handlebar mustache?”

“So people won’t recognize you. Great disguise.” Tony touched the side of his nose.

“Ah. And this one, with the blacked out teeth?”

“Same. By the way, do you know how expensive these things are? That little piece of porn cost me nearly a thousand dollars. Apparently Cap-cock is a very collectible thing since you thawed . . . or didn’t thaw,” Tony added, seeing the look on Steve’s face. “But still, best money I ever spent.”

Steve rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe it could cost so much. To a kid from the depression era, hearing that a doodle of his ding-dong cost up to a third as much as the house he grew up in was insane. 

“I guess they’re kind of rare. They used to be illegal, you know. The cops would literally be breaking down doors looking for illicit American sausage. Crazy, right?”

Steve flushed and continued to flip through the thing. “And you drew hats . . . scars . . . and glasses. I like the glasses. It’s like I’m suddenly someone else,” Steve said sarcastically. 

“Well, I did more than just _that,_ ” Tony said. “I mean, give a guy some credit.”

Steve had to look closer before he realized—Tony had drawn trousers on every single depiction of Captain America, covering his nudity. Steve had to smile. “Thank you, Tony,” he said. 

“No problem,” Tony told him. “Just don’t show Coulson. He’d cry at seeing his Captain America desecrated like that. Or his collectible Captain, at any rate. See you at dinner.” 

After Tony left, Steve couldn’t stop staring at the little eight-pager. A thousand dollars for a silly picture of him naked? And Coulson had ripped it up right in front of Steve. That had to pinch a bit. Still, it solidified the idea that Phil Coulson was a stand up guy. 

And Steve was sure he could find a way to make it up to the man.

***

“That was the best meal ever,” Steve said with a contented sigh. He jammed his hands in his pockets and looked up at the stars.

Walking beside him, Phil Coulson gave a modest shrug. “I asked them to go easy on the garlic and heavy on the romance,” he admitted. “I think they dribbled the candles ahead of time.”

Steve laughed. “All I know is that I’m going to have fond dreams about that marinara sauce.”

“Yeah?” Phil’s smile was, for once, a shade smug. “Believe it or not, I make a hell of a red sauce.”

“You cook?” Steve looked at him with renewed respect. Was there anything Phil Coulson _couldn’t_ do?

“Sure. Well, sort of. My repertoire is not substantial, but I have several dishes I enjoy. And I do them pretty well, if I do say so myself. Anyway, a good spaghetti and red sauce is well within my abilities.” He glanced at Steve. “Love to make it for you sometime.” Steve shivered at the way he said it. Soft, but growly. Confident. Maybe even a bit flirtatious. 

“I’d like that.” Steve breathed in the warm scent of a city night. “This was fun. Thank you.”

“It was—it was special,” Phil said, ducking his head a little. 

“Yes. It was.” Steve couldn’t help but feel sort of soft and warm and happy with the man beside him, giving him admiring looks whenever he didn’t think Steve would notice. He coughed. “You know this was my first date?”

Phil stopped short and stared at him. “No. You . . . no. Really?”

Steve nodded. “First I was so small and weak no one looked twice at me, then I was busy fighting Nazis, then I spent seventy years literally cooling my heels in that block of ice. Not a lot of time to socialize. Sometimes my friend Bucky tried to drag me along when he took girls out, but they always ended up being interested in him. This was the first time I ever had a chance to spend a romantic night with someone interested in _me_.” 

“Well, you could have anyone you want now. I’d be remiss if I didn’t point it out,” Coulson informed him. 

Steve shrugged and wrinkled his nose. “I guess. But . . . what I want is you.”

“Wow. That’s just—wow.” Coulson huffed a nervous breath and raised his hand to adjust his tie—which he wasn’t wearing. Must have been a habit. Steve had certainly never seen him in this outfit before; he was wearing dark jeans, a silk shirt, and a black leather jacket. It wasn’t his usual polished look, but it was still fashionable. It had been just right for the cozy little Italian place he’d taken Steve.

They ambled down the sidewalk together in comfortable silence. It was a nice night, the stars were, if not bright in this section of the city, then doing a reasonable job of shining romantically, it wasn’t too busy out, and Phil was walking Steve home. Perfect. 

“I can’t believe you asked me out,” Coulson said. 

Steve grinned. “I can’t believe you agreed to go out with me.”

“Are you joking?” Coulson coughed. “I think I’ve had a crush on you since I was about twelve. Er. That is—”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” Steve told him truthfully. Steve tried to surreptitiously wipe his sweaty palms on his trousers. “The way you . . . I mean I—I like that. About you. When you look at me like I’m . . . like I’m some kind of hero. And I don’t know, maybe I am, but . . . when you look at me that way, I want to _be_ that guy, you know? I want to be great. I want to do great things. And I don’t want to let you down.”

Phil’s face was good and red now, but he couldn’t seem to stop smiling anyway. “You could never let me down,” he reassured Steve in a gentle voice. “Never.”

“I don’t mean it like that, exactly. I just mean that . . . I want to push myself. I want you to look at me like that—always. I want to be a hero, and I just know I can do anything. I just meant that . . . I feel good. Really good. And when I’m with you, I’m the person I always wanted to be.”

Phil’s footsteps slowed. They’d reached Stark Tower, but neither of them was ready to part. Coulson looked at his feet. “That’s—that’s very humbling. And flattering.”

“Yeah.” Steve smiled a little. “And that’s pretty much what I was trying to describe, too.”

Coulson barked a short laugh. “We’re pretty absurd, you know. You have to admit it. It’s like we’re stuck in this sugary spiral of mutual admiration. We’d better not do this in front of the others, or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“That’s closing the barn door after the horse got out,” Steve mumbled. 

Phil looked at him with raised eyebrows. 

“Tony Stark has already written a three act play in which Thor plays me and Clint plays you, and they chase each other all over the Tower making kissing noises and occasionally shouting sonnets at each other, then fight a highly choreographed encounter with the ‘bad guys,’ played by Natasha and Bruce, while pausing to kiss and hug in between beating people, ducking punches, and shooting cap pistols in random directions. And you don’t even want to know how the whole farce ends.”

“That’s . . . all right.” Coulson straightened up and squared his shoulders. “Next time they start, we’ll just make some popcorn. We’ll sit and watch politely, and we’ll clap at the end.”

Steve paused to marvel at the man’s composure. “And that’ll help?”

“It’ll probably annoy Tony. Never let them see they’ve gotten to you,” Coulson advised. 

“Okay. We’ll try it.” They’d reached the front door now. The doorman looked at them expectantly. Steve looked from the door to Coulson and back. “Um. Did you want to come up for a cup of coffee?”

Phil’s smile was wide. “Not on the first date. I’m being respectful to your old-fashioned sensibilities and taking it slow to prove I have more than a passing interest in you.”

Steve laughed. “I appreciate you being so considerate of my delicate feelings.” He looked away. “But you’re right.” They edged away from the doorman a little, and he turned away to give them the suggestion of privacy. “It actually means a lot to me that you want to take things slow. I haven’t . . .” Steve cleared his throat, his ears hot. “I haven’t done this before.”

Phil nodded. “Yeah, I gathered that. But don’t worry. We’ll take things at your speed. I’m in no hurry. You let me know what you want and when you want it and . . . well, I’ll be around.” He reached into his pocket. “By the way, I got you something.”

He handed Steve a small wooden box. Steve couldn’t imagine what it was. You weren’t supposed to buy someone something on a first date, were you? He hoped he hadn’t screwed up some modern dating ritual already. But when he flipped back the lid, he saw two small pictures sitting on a bed of red velvet.

One was the original picture of Peggy—untouched. And another picture of Peggy. It was restored to near perfection, and Steve felt a swell of happiness—and sadness. She was so beautiful, her hair glossy, her eyes clear. She looked like her sweet lips might part and say his name just the way they used to. In spite of his best efforts, Steve felt a prickle in his eyes. “It’s—this is—”

“And one more,” Phil said, voice soft. There was a ping, and Steve pulled out his phone. He opened his email to find a digital copy of the picture, something he could show anyone with pride. 

“It’s perfect,” Steve said. “Thank you.”

Agent Coulson rocked on his heels for a few moments, letting Steve calm down. “So,” he finally said. “Good first date? Good enough to warrant a second, at any rate?”

“Good enough for another twelve, at least.” And then Coulson kissed him. Hard. Pushed him right up against the building, his head tilted up to meet Steve’s lips, and it felt so good, better than Steve anticipated, even. Steve wrapped his arms around Phil’s waist and tugged him closer, a thrill racing through him as he felt Coulson’s firm body warm against his own. He could smell Phil’s leather jacket, masculine and musky. 

Steve broke away, breathing hard, and looked at Phil blankly. God, he was so turned on. He hadn’t felt like this since his first days after the serum, when his body was functioning so perfectly and seemed to _demand_ that he put that particular muscle to use, back when he’d do his little dance and song with the U.S.O. girls and then duck back behind the stage curtain and find an isolated spot and he’d just jerk off, sometimes four or five times in a row, until he was exhausted and hungry and tired and vaguely ashamed of himself. 

The world had changed a lot, but some things hadn’t. Being so close to Phil, having him _there_ , hips flush against each other, was giving Steve an aching erection. 

Steve turned his face away, but Phil took his chin and turned it back. Steve dipped his head to kiss the man, did something he’d been wanting a long time. 

Phil pushed him back against the building. Steve could feel the rough stones against his back, Phil’s hands drifting down to grip Steve’s hips. Phil kissed him, and kissed him, and hours passed. It felt like hours. Steve could easily spend hours with the man’s mouth on his own. 

The doorman cleared his throat, and Phil stepped back and let out a shaky breath. “I should probably get going.”

“Yeah.” Steve was sort of dazed. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. But it was best to quit now, he knew, because otherwise they’d be up in Steve’s bed in moments despite their better instincts.

“I’m going to be away—on business—for awhile. Mideast, sort of thing, you know.” Steve got a terrible pang at that. He didn’t want to lose the momentum. Things could happen—real things, not superhero things. Real _life_ could happen, if only he had enough time for it. “But we can chat. We’ll do nightly phone dates and that sort of thing. If that’s okay.”

Steve nodded. “I’ll take whatever I can get,” he admitted. 

“Great.” Phil nodded, smoothed his jacket and suddenly looked very collected. 

Steve purposely threw him off with a shy grin and puppy dog eyes. “And you’ll call me every night?”

Phil nodded eagerly. “Yes. Any time. Of course.” He let out a soft sigh. “Thank you,” he added. 

Steve couldn’t tell what the man was actually seeing, whether it was Steve or some fantasy version of him. Steve wondered if it was a dirty fantasy. He could feel himself flush brightly and he tried hard not to fidget in front of the man. Could Coulson really be having dirty fantasies about him? Well, why not? Steve had had them before. But still . . . this was a whole new world for Steve. 

He gave the man another kiss—a chaste one this time. “Thank _you_ ,” he said. “And thank you for these,” he added, holding up the box. “It means a lot to me and . . . I’ll find some way to pay you back.”

“Not necessary,” Coulson assured him. He squeezed Steve’s shoulder one last time before walking away.

Steve watched him go, his mind racing. He was pretty sure he could do something nice for the man in return for his kind gesture. Well, of course he could. 

He was Captain America, after all.

***

Saturday, Steve took a pad of paper and made a visit to the park. It was quieter there, without Tony popping in to bother him. And the light was very good. He sat on a bench and thought about what to sketch while he listened to the sounds of the city all around him. He felt good. Relaxed.

Best of all, he had the phone Tony had given him, and that phone could do _anything_. Steve searched for and found the collectible Tijuana Bibles. Tony hadn’t been kidding—they were expensive. And graphic. Steve couldn’t help but be uncomfortable all over again. He clicked out of them quickly. He tried to think of something else he could do. He was sure he could come up with something Phil would like. 

Steve got up and walked around a little. He found a nice grassy spot with a view of some trees and buildings in the distance behind them. He sat and did a quick sketch of them, then laid back and crossed his arms behind his head. He stared at the clouds, thinking. What did Phil Coulson like? Well, _Steve,_ obviously. And he might have been collecting the bibles because they were about Steve and they were sexual—that was the impression Steve had gotten when he’d spoken with Clint, anyway. And he liked stuff that was vintage. He liked Captain America collectibles, but he’d also confided over dinner that he was an avid antique collector—he liked the thrill of hunting through estate sales and online auctions. And Steve could draw. 

And then it hit him. He knew exactly what he could do. There would be an element of that vintage look Coulson liked, it could be about Steve, and Steve could keep it sort of classy. It would be fun to make it a bit sexy, but not go overboard. And Steve was sure Coulson would like it.

He took out Tony’s phone and browsed through pictures of himself on the internet. There were lots of them. Some were candids, some were taken with people who’d wanted him to pose with them, and some had been professionally done for old propaganda or new P.S.A.s. He could see himself from almost any angle, and that was really helpful. He also looked up a few other things and had to grin when he found them. Yeah, that was just what he’d been looking for. 

Then took out his sketch pad, rolled onto his stomach, and began to draw.

***

Steve sketched all day, then carried the drawings home to paint them. There was one he really liked. He was excited about it. He was pretty sure Coulson would like it, too.

“Where have you been?” Tony asked when he walked in. “You missed one hell of a game of Parcheesi. There were tears, recriminations, epic lovemaking sessions—it had everything. And where were you?” 

“Park,” Steve replied shortly.

“Huh. Guess that would explain the grass stains all over. Well, get changed. We’re going out to dinner.” For the first time, Steve noticed the man was all dressed up, redolent of expensive cologne and just a hint of motor oil. 

“No, thanks.”

“What? Come on. Everyone else is coming! Even Fury agreed to come along. It’ll be fun.” Tony gave him an encouraging grin.

“Can’t. I’m in the middle of something and I want to finish it up tonight.” When Steve got on a drawing kick he hated being interrupted. He liked to do the whole thing in one go if he could. 

Tony planted his fists on his hips and looked stern. “Don’t you sit around and pine for Phil all night,” he said. 

“I won’t, Mom,” Steve promised. 

“All right. We’ll be out late. Call us if you need us. There’s food in the fridge. Eat your vegetables,” Tony called as he walked away. “And don’t forget to brush your teeth! This is my first time letting you stay home without a babysitter, so you know I worry.”

“Yes, Tony. Have fun tonight.”

“You, too,” Tony said. “Don’t burn the tower down.”

“I won’t.” Steve took the stairs. He jogged all the way up to his floor and barely broke a sweat. He liked the stairs, because no one else ever took them. It was nice to have a bit of privacy. 

Once he reached his own quarters, Steve dragged out an easel and some paints. He knew which sketch he wanted to take further. It was the one in his old army uniform—well, half the uniform, anyway. He lined his paints up and sat down to work. 

The work went smoothly, quickly. It was a little embarrassing to be doing a picture of himself, but it was sort of nice to have control over it. Steve turned on his radio—it was a faux old-fashioned one, made to look like an antique. Fury had given it to him for his birthday, and he loved to put on some big band music in the evenings. He’d been in the process of slowly replacing everything else he owned that was old or made to look antique, but he’d keep the radio forever. 

When it was finished and propped up in the corner, drying, Steve looked at the painting with a certain amount of pride. He hoped Phil would like the drawing as much as he did. It was much better than a cheap cartoon, he felt, even if it was a bit more modest and didn’t show off any naughty bits. He wondered if Phil had bought the eight-pager for the collectability or for the . . . well, for the sex. 

The thought gave him pause. Clint had implied it was the sex. Had Phil used it as an—an aid? Had he thought about Steve while he touched himself? Steve began to feel sort of hot all over. Wow, the thought of Phil holding that little pamphlet and thinking of Steve was really arousing. 

Steve stared at his own work. Was it sexy enough? Maybe in today’s world, a guy needed something a little dirtier. He sure hoped not. He’d hate to disappoint Phil, but Steve didn’t know how “dirty” he would be comfortable getting. Still, imagining Phil, his immaculate suit all rumpled, his trousers undone, looking at Steve, thinking of Steve . . . 

Steve swallowed hard, unconsciously raising one hand to touch his throat. Steve wondered if Phil would look at _this_ picture and do the same. Maybe. Why not? He liked Steve. He _wanted_ Steve. And Steve had the feeling that Phil had wanted him, fantasized about him, for a long, long time. Had spent years looking at comics and getting excited by his hero in the skin-tight, spangly suit. Steve didn’t doubt it; the way the man looked at him even today, worshipfully and full of raw hunger, pretty much proved it. 

And Steve loved being looked at that way. He squirmed a little, still feeling warm. He let his hand trail down the side of his neck, skim his stomach . . . his fingertips brushed his thigh and—Steve started as his phone went off, jarring him from his daydream. 

“Oh!” He dug it out of his pocket and glared at the thing, blushing furiously. 

It was Phil’s number. Instantly, Steve’s irritation vanished in a puff of yearning. “Hello,” he said.

“Hi. I’m on my way back to New York,” Coulson informed him. “Can I see you when I get in?”

Steve was exhilarated. “You couldn’t get here too soon,” he replied. 

“Really?”

“Really.” Steve laughed softly. “I was just, uh, thinking about you, to be honest.” 

“You were?”

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” Steve admitted. 

“Mm. I could say the same. But then, I think you already knew that,” Phil said. “What, er, were you thinking about?”

Steve had to grin a little. “What, you want all the naughty details? Because they were pretty naughty.”

“Reeeeally?” Phil drawled. “That’s interesting.”

“Ha ha ha. Do you have any idea how much I’ve been missing you? I’ve been thinking about you all week.” Steve wondered what an eight-pager involving Coulson would be like. All buttoned-up suits with unbuttoned trousers, he’d guess. Steve could suddenly see the appeal. He wanted Phil _now_. “I love your sharp suits, but I want to take you out of one. The minute I see you I’m going to grab you by your expensive tie and pull you into—”

“You do know I’m on a S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued plane surrounded by other agents and not at all in a position to, um, discuss this . . . particular endeavor at the moment?” Phil asked him.

“That’s what makes it fun.” Steve could just picture Phil, squirming in his seat, sweating a little, his face pink, unable to stop lusting for his absent Captain. “By the way, I have something for you.” Steve grinned. He was excited for Phil to see the painting. “I know you collect Captain America stuff and all. Want to see?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Phil said. 

Steve didn’t answer. He walked over to the painting and took a picture of it with his phone. It looked good. Steve was posed against his motorbike, wearing his World War II uniform—sort of. He was wearing the trousers, at any rate, and the hat sat on his head at a jaunty angle. The tie, too, was loosely tied around his neck, dangling down his chest. He was leaning back with one arm slung over the handlebars, smiling a little. Shirtless was about as risqué as Steve was comfortable painting—well, for a picture of _himself,_ anyway. He had to take a deep breath before he hit ‘send.’ 

There was a very long silence.

“Oh, my god. This is wonderful!” Phil breathed. “It’s perfection. It’s just—who made it? I thought I knew every artist out there who specialized in Captain America portraiture, and this is completely new to me.”

That gave Steve a good, warm glow. “Oh, it’s a relatively unknown artist,” he said. “At least, he’s not known for art. I think this is the first decent Captain America painting he’s done.”

“Semi-decent,” Phil replied in an arch undertone. “It reminds me of a vintage pin-up artwork.”

“Thank you,” Steve said sweetly. “That’s exactly what I was going for.”

“ _You_ did this?”

“Yup. Maybe not the best art out there, but I tried. For you.”

“Well,” Phil murmured. “I am suitably impressed. It is—it’s sexy as hell.” Steve flushed right to his hairline, glad no one could see him. “It’s perfect,” Phil went on. “I love every little detail, from the cocky angle of the hat to the way you have your legs spread. You made this for me? “

“Every last brush-stroke.” Steve smiled. “It’s one of a kind.”

“So are you. Can I compare it to the real thing when I return?”

“Absolutely. I’m not going to lie, I’ve been having a hard time thinking about anything else,” Steve told him. “I think about you looking at those eight-pagers and thinking of me, and it’s just . . . it’s more than I can take.”

“Trust me, I feel the same way. Only I’ve been thinking about it for a lot longer.” Steve could hear the almost desperate ache in Phil’s voice. How long had he wanted Steve? Since he was a teen? Younger, even? His whole life?

Steve cleared his throat. “Are you as hot and bothered as I am right now?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. I think I probably am. But like I said, I’m not really in a position to . . .”

“Maybe you’d feel more comfortable going back to texting?” Steve suggested. 

“I would be able to communicate what I’m thinking in better detail without worry of the information being overheard,” Phil said evenly. 

Steve laughed. “Do your coworkers know you’re talking to me?”

“I generally don’t inform them about that kind of thing, no.”

“Are they looking at you right now?” Steve asked. He couldn’t help needling the man. 

“A few of them are.”

“Well, then I can talk about it instead. Unless you want to text.” Steve went over to the couch and sat, kicking his legs up and putting one arm behind his head. “You know, I like the idea of you getting all hot and bothered over me, especially in public. And I just eat it up when you start blushing and stammering.”

“Well, at least the experience is enjoyable for _someone_ ,” Phil said sourly.

“It gets me hot,” Steve blurted. 

“I . . . see.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No. Not at all,” Phil said. “I’m just adjusting to the idea. And hey, at least it’s something I can do pretty much on command, so that’s a bonus. You really—like that?”

Steve undid his shirt. Even with the breeze, he was very overheated. He knew he was blushing like mad, talking about stuff like this, but it wasn’t as though anyone could see him. “I love it when you blush. Tony Stark tells me you’re this icy, proficient agent around everyone else.” Steve couldn’t help but grin. “You’re not him around me. I like that I have the power to turn you into a love-sick, starry-eyed stutterer. I dunno. It makes me feel kind of powerful,” he admitted. 

“You are powerful,” Phil murmured. 

“Mmmm. Not as powerful as I’d like to be,” Steve whispered. 

“Why?”

“Because if I had the power to do anything, I’d make it so that you were here instead of on a plane God knows where. You’d be here and you’d be in my bed and you’d be completely naked . . . well, maybe not completely. I like the tie.”

“Mmmph,” Phil groaned softly. 

“What was that?”

“We’re switching back to text now,” Coulson informed him in a dry voice. “Hang up.”

Steve laughed again and hung up. He sent the man a text. _Is this better?_

 _I want to fuck you,_ Coulson responded immediately. _There. Yes, that’s much better. Apologies. I didn’t mean to be crude._

 _I don’t mind,_ Steve told him truthfully. He smiled. _Be honest; did you really like my painting?_

_I love it. Really. I’m so glad you’re not here now, because I’d be making a complete ass out of myself. More than usual, even._

Steve laughed softly. _That’s not fair. You’re enthusiastic. I love that about you._

 _I’m excited about the painting, but more excited to see more of the real thing,_ Phil admitted. 

That gave Steve an idea. He smirked and stood up. _Okay. BRB._ Steve took off his paint-smeared flannel shirt and went into the bathroom where there were entirely too many mirrors. Careful not to include his face (because it was awfully red at the moment), Steve snapped a picture and sent it to Coulson’s email.

 _Wow,_ Phil replied instantly. _I am utterly speechless. Nothing in my entire collection compares to this._

 _You want another?_ Steve asked. 

_Yes, please._

_Okay. Hold on._ Steve glanced at the mirror, then undid the button on his trousers and tugged them down so they rode low on his hips. Nothing obscene, really, but . . . yeah, he hoped it was suggestive enough. As soon as he’d sent the pic off, he texted Phil. _What do you think?_

 _God bless America,_ Phil typed back, and Steve laughed. _And Erskine. What I wouldn’t give to shake that man’s hand right now._

 _Stop thinking about touching other guys,_ Steve teased. 

_You are incredible. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. What I wouldn’t give to kiss every inch of your body._

_Mmmmm, keep going,_ Steve typed back. 

_I will when you do,_ Phil joked. 

Steve grinned broadly. What the hell. No one else would ever see. And Phil had him all kinds of excited. Steve shimmied his khakis down, kicked them off, and removed his underwear. Looking in the mirror, he blushed even brighter, feeling wicked and sexy and elated at the idea of doing this. He took one more picture with a shaking hand, then sent it to Phil. _You can have that next time you’re in town,_ Steve added. _And I don’t mean the picture._

There was a long silence. 

_You still there?_

_I—yes. Apologies. I have to go—I need to—do something. Can I call you back when I get to a better place?_ Phil asked. 

Taken aback, Steve typed, _Sure. I’ll be around._

Radio silence. 

Steve went back to the couch and sat, staring at the phone, willing it to ring, but it didn’t. Eventually, he dropped his face in his hands. He knew he shouldn’t have done it.

***

More than an hour later, something rang. Steve woke, groggy. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa, worrying and waiting. The ring came again, insistent, and Steve looked around blurrily, trying to figure out what was making the noise. The phone? The alarm clock? A tea kettle? He hadn’t put on any tea. It rang again, and Steve stumbled to his feet. The door. That was it. He hated how all new technology made the same sort of noises.

“I’m coming,” he said. Steve opened the door. 

Phil stood in the doorway, his suit a little rumpled, a big bunch of flowers in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. “Sorry,” he said. “I was, uh, in the neighborhood.”

Steve stared. “Really?” 

The man cleared his throat. “Well. Sort of. It wasn’t too much trouble to divert the flight, at any rate.” He smiled shyly. “I’m a bit old-fashioned, and I would rather to do this in person. I’m sorry I’m late, but first I had to talk the pilot into making a pit-stop, then I had to find a place that was still open selling flowers, and then—”

Steve grinned. He grabbed him by the tie and pulled him forward. “Let’s do this in the bedroom,” he proposed. 

Phil looked at Steve’s nude body and nodded, looking a bit awed. 

“You liked that last picture?” Steve asked with a shy smile. 

“Rather a lot, actually. Even more than my trading cards and my Tijuana bibles.” He smiled at Steve. He’d brought red flowers. Steve wanted to take one and rub the petals over Phil’s skin. Or skim it across his own, and watch Phil’s reaction. 

“We can take more pictures and save them to a private collection.” Steve pulled the man forward by his tie and kissed him hard on the mouth. “I’ve got an app for that.”

“Sounds like a fun night to me,” Phil said, and let Steve drag him into the bedroom.

***

The next day, Steve didn’t wake up until noon. Phil was beside him, twisted in the bedcovers, his head in Steve’s lap. Steve carded his fingers through the man’s hair, making him hum in pleasure. Steve smiled drowsily and began to nod off again.

The phone rang. It seemed even louder and more shrill than it usually did. He snatched it out from under a pillow and frowned at it. It was Coulson’s phone, not his. Maybe that’s why it seemed louder. Maybe Fury needed something. One new email, marked, **_Urgent._** Sighing, Steve opened it. He didn’t understand what he was looking at right away. There was the Iron Man helmet, sure, every kid under twelve had them, but then there was also a guy—a _naked_ guy!? In an Iron Man helmet!? Steve bolted upright. Phil merely rolled over, determined to sleep in. 

Steve was so upset he broke one of the buttons as he replied to the email: **TONY WHAT THE HELL????**

A moment later, Tony responded with, _What? I thought we were doing that now. I thought that was a thing._

Furious, Steve dialed Tony’s number. 

“Hel—”

“No, we are NOT doing that, and this is NOT a thing now.”

“Sheesh, crankypants. I would think you’d be in a much better mood than usual this morning instead of ready to attack me for no discernable reason.”

“No discernable _reason?_ You sent a picture of your—of your _penis_ to Agent Coulson!”

“So what? So did you,” Tony said. 

“That’s different. Anyway, how would you know about that?” Even though Steve was pretty sure Tony couldn’t see him, Steve wrapped himself tightly in one of the sheets, face hot with anger and embarrassment. 

“DUH,” Tony said. “I made that phone. I set the whole thing up, password and everything.”

“Yeah, well, knock it off,” Steve growled. “You can send your perverted photos somewhere else!”

“Hey!” Tony protested. “It was just for Coulson’s collection. I’ll have you know that picture is _really_ rare and _really_ valuable, okay?” 

In the background, Steve could hear Pepper call out, “Not that rare. And not that valuable, either.”

“Stay out of my private stuff, Tony,” Steve told him huffily, then turned off the phone and slammed it down on the nightstand. It shattered. Instantly, Steve felt horrible. As angry as he was, he had no excuse for destroying Phil’s phone. 

To Steve’s surprise, Phil was still mostly asleep, one leg hanging over the side of the bed. Steve crawled over to him. “Phil? I broke your phone,” Steve said apologetically. “I didn’t mean to. I just don’t know my own strength sometimes and I got mad and went to set it down and . . . squashed it.”

“Mmmhmm.” Phil barely moved. Well, it _had_ been a long, vigorous night. 

“Are you angry with me?” 

Finally Phil yawned hugely and blinked a little. “’S okay. Fury’ll get another one. Come back to bed,” he invited, holding the covers open.

Steve was delighted to do this, trundling down and wrapping himself around the agent. “Is that the first time that’s happened?” he asked. 

“What?”

“I mean . . . Tony doesn’t _often_ send you pictures of his—his privates, does he?” Steve said. He couldn’t help but feel anxious. 

Phil squinted at him. “Is that what happened?” At Steve’s nod, he sighed. “Don’t worry. I’m not interested in Tony’s naked pictures no matter how rare or valuable he says they are. Hand me your phone,” he said. He typed something in, hit ‘send,’ then promptly rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. 

The phone beeped, and Steve picked it up. The message read, _Ouch. Message received. No more meatstick emails. Got it._

Steve scrolled down further. Coulson had written, _Stark, you’d better be hard at work developing a new and functioning mechanical penis, because the next time you send me a picture of yours, I’m chopping it off and mailing it to Asgard, third class._

_Sincerely,_

_Agent Phil Coulson, who got stabbed in the back by an insane demigod in order to motivate you to save Manhattan and really doesn’t need any more of your shit at the moment, thank you._

That did make Steve feel better. He crawled back into bed with Coulson and put his arms around the man. “Thank you,” he murmured. 

“You’re welcome,” Phil replied, allowing Steve to kiss the side of his mouth.  


Steve stroked his shoulder. It was amazing to be lying beside the man, naked, unashamed. Everything felt so comfortable, so right. Steve rested his head against Phil’s back and breathed in his scent, the hint of leather and the rich wine they’d drunk last night, and overlaying it all, the scent of sex. Steve loved it. 

“Phil?” he murmured. 

“Mm-hm?”

“I’m sorry I made you tear up your collectable Tijuana Bibles,” Steve told him.

Phil rolled over and looked up at Steve, trailing his index finger down Steve’s chest. “Don’t worry about it,” he said with a smile. “Now that I’ve got the real thing, I think my collection could be considered complete.”


End file.
